


A Courier Walks Into a Bar...

by meanoldauthor



Series: Mean Old Lady [9]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Alcohol, Gen, Post-Game(s), digs through freezer-burned drafts for random drabbles, shortfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 01:49:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12571008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meanoldauthor/pseuds/meanoldauthor
Summary: A moment of down time, between a war and whatever comes after--and a few sore losers, come to spoil it





	A Courier Walks Into a Bar...

“So…All I wanna know is, how long, and local?”

Cass snorted. “Nah, back West a ways. And you don’t want to.”

“Why not?” Adal slumped against the bar, staring at her Nuka like it had done her a great personal wrong.

“It’s kind of… you think twice.” Cass held her hands apart.

She cringed. Cass took a slug of whiskey, and Adal waited until she was committed. “Let me guess, you went for it anyway.”

She sputtered a little, and laughed. “Yeah. Walked funny for a bit.”

Adal snorted, eyeing up the bar. Boulder had remained a quiet part of the Mojave, with only a few others there, keeping to themselves. She doubted any of them recognized her, not in person, probably not even with the symbol on her back. She tapped her fingers on her arm, licking her lips at the smell of spirits. She made herself pick up the soft drink, taking an intolerably sweet sip.

Cass nudged her on the arm. “Whaddabout him? Not too bad lookin?”

“Mm.” She was pointing at a younger man, strongly built with a handsome face. It was ruddy, he and his friends well in their cups. “All yours, if you want him.”

“Yeah, that one’s more your type,” she said, nodding to a lean, hard-bitten man. “But honestly, you’re already punishing yourself enough with stayin’ sober and crappy roll-your-owns.”

“He’s _not_ my type,” she said, rummaging in a pocket.

“What is then?” Cass asked. “Her?”

“No,” she said, reaching under her duster. “Not in the mood.”

“Then you need a drink.” She waved the bartender over, who dropped another bottle of whiskey near her. “I am getting you laid tonight.”

“We discussed it, Cass,” Adal said. “It’d end in heartbreak.”

“You sure?” she said, waving an empty shot glass suggestively. “But…you know, you’ve been kind of weird lately.” She didn’t quite look at her. “Tense. You’re better at shooting folk than running a city. Loosen up, jump a handsome something-or-other, feel better.”

Adal focused on the paper in her hands, lining up the shreds of tobacco in it like a holy ritual. “Eh. Rather go for a walk.”

“Off into the sunset, never to be seen again?” Cass gave her a look under the brim of her hat. More quietly, “Want to talk about it?”

She started to roll the cigarette, and a wad of tobacco fell out of the end. She froze, a vein throbbing on her forehead. “No.”

“’Cause I figure you’ve gone around solving problems for ev’ryone in the Mojave, excepting for yourself.” She reached over to refill her glass, nearly sloshing on the counter. “Maybe you rubbed off on me. I’m helping if you want me to or not.”

Adal let out a long breath, managing to finish the roll without screaming. “It’s old an’ heavy shit, Cass. Leave it there.”

A moment of quiet between them. She watched the young man try to catch Cass’s eye. “So, where would you walk to?”

She flicked open her lighter, imagining her tension being breathed out on the first puff of smoke. “I dunno. Maybe…go back East. See what the situation is.”

“See…What, East? _Back_ east?” Cass turned to face her.

She sighed. “Right. I’m not getting out of this now.”

“Fuck, no. _Back_ East?”

“You ever see a storm roll in?” she asked. “Watch, if we ever get one. The first winds kick up, you see birds running ahead of it, keeping out of the madness behind ‘em. A lot of tribals were like that, the Legion started marching West.”

Cass raised an eyebrow. “You weren’t? I never would have pegged you.”

“Yeah. We traded a lot, so we kept up on the languages. Hunted with guns, those who were good enough, and I been wandering civilized Cali for…fifteen years? Sixteen?” she said, and raised the Nuka in salute. “Still swing a fucking good spear, though.”

She gave her a measuring look. “So…what would you go looking for?”

The grain of the wood was peeling up. She started to pick at it. “Those birds? That’s not half the flock that blows in. Lot of ‘em get killed. Some go to ground, get lost, broken up. Not dead, though.” There was a ripping noise as the veneer pulled up, and she hastily pressed it down. “Not all the way.”

A second, deeper silence. The rest of the bar kept going, but sounded like part of another world. “I’m sorry.”

“S’a long time ago.” She took a longing look at the bottle of whiskey. Cass offered it, and she clutched the Nuka and waved her away with the cigarette.

“Did you—” The door slammed open. Hands went to guns, and the room went silent. The newcomers were smart enough not to go for the full kit, changing the makeshift armor for things scavenged off the battlefield. The red fabric was still there, the obscured faces, and the attitude.

The leader leveled a finger at her. “You! Harlot. We demand satisfaction for the death of our brethren!”

Every eye in the bar turned to her. Adal took him in, pointing hand shaking a little, the break in his voice. His Adam’s apple bobbed uncertainly at their attention.

She snorted, and it turned into a little chuckle as she tapped the ashes off the tip of her smoke. It wasn’t the expected response, seeing how they shrank back at the looks from around the bar. She waved for them to approach. “You guys. God, what are you, twelve? Get over here, I’ll buy you a round.” Cass gave her an incredulous look.

He stiffened. “We will not poison ourselves—”

The hard-bitten man shoved him forward. “Woman gave you an order. Got a problem with that?”

The would-be-Legionary was smarter than he looked, not drawing his weapon with so many others in the room. He and his posse tried to look purposeful as they approached her, but clustered together like scared children.

Adal grinned at him. “Better.” She cracked the new bottle, turning over a row of dead shot glasses. “Now, what the hell brings you fellas here?”

“R-retribution, for the deaths of our fallen…”

“Sure.” She filled the glasses, careful of every drop and trying not to lick her lips.

“And to carry the legacy of mighty Caesar and his Legate—”

She grabbed his hand and forced a glass into it. “Drink that.” He raised it, but hesitated. “Yeah, good start. Listen, kid, I’m giving you a pass this time. You’re young enough to find some other way to walk. Legion’s dead. Get over it.”

“You killed our brothers.” It was almost feeble.

“They tried killing me first,” she said, cigarette wobbling as she spoke. “And you walk in here with your…what are those, varmint rifles? You survive the Dam with those?”

“We did.” He raised his chin. “We fought valiantly, even if the profligates refused—”

“Well, then, maybe you’re tougher than you look, granted,” she said, grudging. “So you’re gonna restart the Legion on your own, then? Declare yourself the new Caesar? Or what?”

“We…” She took a drink of her Nuka, waiting for the rest. “We want to see vengeance done.”

She sighed. “Yeah, that’s Legion thinking,” she said, taking the smoke from her mouth to pinch it a little tighter. “Can’t see past your front porch. Listen, there’s a hell of a lot of people out here who will kill you for having been Legion. I see you again dressed like that, so will I. Pick up a decent job out here, talk like a normal person, and no one’ll know. Lot of people looking for mercs who know a gun right now.”

“We will never—”

“You were there?” Her grin was gone. “Then you saw what happened to Lanius.”

They froze at the name. She pointed to the glass in his hand. “Drink that. Shame to let it go to waste.” Adal stood, gathering up the others. She wandered through the pack of them, handing out shots. “Now, I doubt you got half the hell in you that he did. But assume you kill me, then what? Well, you go West, kill everyone there.” The last of them refused to take the glass. “Kid, I am already in a bad goddamn mood. Take the fucking glass and don’t make me any angrier.” He took it, slowly. “Kill everyone in the Mojave you don’t agree with. Then what? Murder your way to the goddamn ocean? What happens when you get there?”

“We establish a new and glorious—”

“Fuck you, I ain’t asking.” She leaned back on her stool. “Now, there’s a nice empty table in the corner. Siddown, all of you, and talk it over. I’ll see no one touches you ‘til you have a decision.”

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” Cass hissed.

“They’re dumb goddamn kids,” she said, sitting properly. The former Legionaries had started to migrate towards the corner, uncertainly. “Young enough to start over if they want it enough.”

“They’re _Legion._ ”

“Legion’s dying. Pulling apart, slowly.” There was one last glass sitting there, empty. She flipped it upright, considering the bottle, waiting for them to get further away. “And I’m sick of the killing, Cass.” She heard one of them cough, spluttering on the liquor. Another raised his voice, angry. She sighed, turning.

The belligerent one nearly had a bead on her as she fired. Blood spattered across the wall behind him, and he hit the ground with only part of a head. The others had their hands on their guns, but hadn’t drawn. Adal kept the pistol out, low. “Sick of killing the ones that don’t need it,” she said, louder. “The rest…?”

They looked at one another, then stepped back.

She tossed a handful of caps on the bar top. “Sorry about that. For the cleanup.”

“No trouble,” the bartender said, giving the body a disinterested look. He tipped his hat. “Whenever you’re in town, ma’am.”


End file.
